Apocalipstick by Sue Margolis

From the writer who introduced you Spin Cycle and Neurotica comes a hilarious new novel approximately falling in love, hating your activity, and getting what you will have out of life---without ever mussing your lipstick!When it involves males, attractiveness columnist Rebecca high-quality constantly appears to be like at the scruffy finish of the mascara wand. yet all that alterations the morning she meets Max Stoddart, her new colleague on the day-by-day leading edge. along with his upscale go well with, Hugh furnish hair, and obscenely horny beauty, he’s a unmarried woman’s dream come precise. ultimately, her grandmother can cease browsing the internet for eligible Jewish men. yet is Max the capture of the decade---or only a significant babe magnet? in the meantime, Rebecca’s previous highschool nemesis has resurfaced, a former blond bombshell referred to as Lipstick who's now engaged to Rebecca’s widowed dad. And it’s goodbye to articles on toe cleavage whilst a scorching tip sweeps Rebecca to the guts of the Paris cosmetics global, the place a miracle anti-wrinkle cream is set to be introduced. that's, till she blows the whistle on a scandal which may set the wonder business---and the way forward for international peace---reeling. Will Rebecca win the recognition---not to say the Pulitzer---she yearns for...and get the guy of her desires? remain tuned.

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Corvis Rebaine, the phobia of the East, a guy as speedy with a quip as he's with a blade, returns during this hugely expected sequel to Ari Marmell’s acclaimed The Conqueror’s Shadow, a debut hailed for its fresh tackle darkish fable and remarkable flashes of sharp, sarcastic wit. Now Marmell increases the stakes in a narrative that has all of the humor and pleasure of its predecessor, plus a terrifying new villain so evil that he may be a fit for Rebaine himself.

No, sorry, I haven’t had a chance to check my e-mail. ” “What? A few bits of raw fish? You’ll fade away. You’ll turn into your great-aunt Minnie. The woman ate like a sparrow. ” From the moment Rebecca’s mother died ten years ago, her adoring, devoted Jewish Grandma Rose had taken it upon herself to worry, fuss and kvetch about every aspect of Rebecca’s life. “Not that I want to meddle, but . ” became her mantra. This of course was the surest sign that she was about to do precisely that, on a scale unsurpassed since Hitler meddled with the Sudetenland.

Spurred on by winning the case, she then stood as a candidate for the Party Party in the 1992 election (manifesto commitment: bondage gear on the National Health Service). Naturally she lost her deposit. After that, she set up her own magazine, Suck. Then, suddenly, in the early nineties, she had a religious epiphany, which she described in her biography Out of the Blue. She was alone in her office at Suck editing a piece called Around the World in Eighty Shags when she heard God speaking to her and telling her to give up her life of debauchery.

He was the old-fashioned traditional type who insisted she take his surname once they were married. Snow shook her head. “I don’t want to upset him. I mean maybe I could learn to live with being Mrs. ” Rebecca shook her head. Snow was a kind, sweet girl, but she allowed people to walk all over her—especially Lucretia. As she reached her desk, Rebecca did a cartoon double take. All her stuff had gone. Her computer, her notebook, her ceramic arse full of Biros and emery boards, the mass of freebie cosmetic samples sent in by publicists desperate for publicity, not to mention three pairs of windup walking sushi, had all vanished.